


The Queen's Raven

by GoodQueenAly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodQueenAly/pseuds/GoodQueenAly
Summary: 172 AC. Naerys Targaryen is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms as the wife of King Aegon IV. She takes into her service a young woman named Melissa Blackwood, neither knowing how much their lives will change as a result.This is the story from Naerys' POV of the rise and fall of Melissa Blackwood at the court of King Aegon IV. Work in progress. I'll probably add more tags as more chapters are added. No idea how long this will run.
Comments: 51
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

She watches him depart, laughing with his knights, bellowing to his squires. He is easy to spot. The sun glints off his silver-gold hair, as shining as the gilded monstrosity he calls a crown. While the men around him are a churning mass of hunting greens, the king sports a great coat of crimson, like a fresh gash in a decaying wound.

No man looks for the queen in the hunting party. Frail Naerys, soft-spoken and gentle, has never been an eager rider, much less enamored of martial sport than her husband. Besides, her place is taken. The queen can see the lady tossing her head back at some jest of the king’s, her flying dark curls partially obscuring the red stallion on her cloak. Her steed paws the ground next to the king’s great beast.

“The Brackens always did sit their mounts well,” Prince Aemon observes. He meets her eyes, violet on violet.

She considers him a moment, looks back. The master huntsman sounds his horn, and with a final kiss king and lady put their horses to a brisk trot. “She may find this one more difficult,” Naerys answers.

“Maybe.” Aemon keeps his gaze on his sister. “But she’s a better player than the ones before. She won’t be sent away so easily.”

“She is different,” she agrees. “But he is the same.”

“He stayed with the blacksmith’s wife for four years, and all she did was whelp.”

“Aemon!” the queen chides him. “That is unseemly to say.”

He offers her a half-smile. “My apologies, dear sister.”

Naerys allows herself a faint sigh. “Lady Barba will give him a child as well, in time, if the Seven will it.”

“All the more reason to act without delay.”

She furrows her brow at him. “We cannot halt the will of the Seven, brother.”

“No, but we can protect you.”

“Protect me?” Now it is the queen’s turn to smile. “I have the most valiant knight since Serwyn of the Mirror Shield by my side.”

Aemon’s voice remains solemn. “If the trouble could be solved with swords, you would be safe. But Lady Barba will play a subtler game.”

Her eyes are two moons, passing behind purple clouds. “What game?”

“If Barba bears the king a son, she will persuade him to legitimize the boy. A bastard with two noble parents, think on it. From there it may be a small step to removing Daeron from the succession and appointing Barba’s bastard his heir.”

“Daeron was born in wedlock,” Naerys protests in a small voice. “He cannot be put aside.”

“Barba will whisper to him,” he counters. “You know the tales, Naerys …”

“A lie.” For once, her voice is strong and firm.

“We know it for a lie. Barba will insist it is true. Lord Bracken will call for a trial at the small council. The Brackens will find a hundred witnesses to swear on _The Seven-Pointed Star_ that we - that the lie is no lie.”

She straightens her skirt, pressing her fingers hard on the smooth silk. “Then what do you suggest?”

“You choose your own lady companions.”

“Lady companions,” she repeats with uncertainty.

“If you do not appoint ladies yourself, he will do it for you. Who do you think will serve you then? Lady Barba has a younger sister, I recall, and Bracken cousins too. Every open place is a place for a spy, another who could lie about us.”

She pauses, watching him, waiting for a name.

He gives her a fuller smile. “Lord Blackwood’s brother, Willum,” he begins. “I knew him in Dorne. He left a daughter.”

Naerys looks out the window again, but the stony courtyard is barren and still. The queen bites her lower lip. “She may serve.”


	2. Chapter 2

The maid enters her chamber, all willowy grace. At first Naerys thinks of Cassella Vaith; but no, Cassella had never had this one’s assurance. Cassella had always reminded Naerys of the unicorn on one of the tapestries in her cousin Rhaena’s motherhouse - beautiful, but too delicate and frightened, nuzzling under the arm of the Maiden for protection. The Blackwood’s features are serene as she approaches the sitting queen, her head held up even as her eyes are demurely lowered. **  
**

“Your Grace.” The maid dips into a perfect curtsy, straight down and back up. She is taller than Barba, Naerys notes, with long dark hair, her curves gone to slimness. Her dress is modestly cut, with no hint of the buxomness for which Barba is so praised.

“My lady.” Naerys grants her an incline of the head. “Tell me your name.”

“Lady Melissa of House Blackwood, if it please Your Grace.” Her eyes are still cast down, and her tone is steeped in courtesy.

“Lady Melissa,” the queen repeats. “How many years have you, my lady?”

“Six and ten, Your Grace,” she answers as smoothly as before.

Naerys nods, then summons as much royal pride as she can for her next question. “Are you promised, my lady?”

Melissa’s head jerks out of its bow, and for the first time Naerys sees her large gray eyes. Then Melissa bows it again, a blush creeping up the pale Blackwood cheek. “I am not betrothed, Your Grace. But my lord uncle provides well for me.”

The queen had been too long at court not to read the message in Melissa’s careful words. The high prospects of a Blackwood of a lesser branch were likely few, no matter how pretty she was. “A lady must rely on the men of her House,” the queen comments, with only the barest touch of irony in her voice.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Melissa replies immediately.

“Have you been long at court, Lady Melissa?”

She sees Melissa visibly relax, now that they have passed the troublesome question of her marital status. “Only a day, Your Grace.”

“And has the Lord Hand provided for your comforts?” Naerys studies Lady Melissa carefully as she asks.

“Lord Bracken has granted me board, yes,” Melissa replies, the answer crisp beneath her courtesy.

_She will not criticize him_ , Naerys notices. “You do not approve of the Lord Hand,” the queen dares. It is not a question, but she still waits for a reply.

A pause. Melissa meets the queen’s stare again, her eyes burning despite their cool color. “I am only a woman, and would not question the wisdom of His Grace’s Hand.”

_Too careful_ , Naerys thinks. _Did Aemon misjudge her?_ She tries another tack. “Yet you are a Blackwood, and he a Bracken.” She smiles, hoping to soften the blunt distinction. “Even princesses are taught the great enmity between your Houses.”

Melissa nods. “Your Grace speaks truly. Raventree has long know the faithlessness of House Bracken.”

_Faithlessness. A particular choice of words_. The Blackwoods are one of the few Houses south of the Neck to keep the old gods, the queen recalls. _Another distinction_. “Lord Bracken might say the same of the Blackwoods,” Naerys observes, keeping her tone mild.

Melissa’s grey eyes consider Naerys’ violet ones before she responds. “Then we must rely upon His Grace in his wisdom to favor the more just cause.”

“May the Crone light his way,” Naerys automatically intones.

“By the old gods and the new,” Melissa prays in turn. Naerys does not miss where the Blackwood places her emphasis.


	3. Chapter 3

For the evening, Naerys is alone. The Hand has arranged for a troupe of Lysene mummers to perform for the king and Lady Barba. Deep in Maegor’s Holdfast, the Queen cannot hear their shouts of laughter.

Aemon, as always, is with her. “What did you make of Lady Melissa?” he asks his sister.

“Modest. Good-natured. Pleasant.”

“Is that all?” Aemon lifts one silver-gold eyebrow.

Naerys tugs at the long white sleeve of her gown. “Quiet,” she adds. “Reserved.”

“Well, that comes with being a Blackwood,” Aemon counters. “She’s spent too long with their ravens, worshiping trees. Bring her to court and you’ll make an ally of her.”

The queen shakes her head. “Lady Melissa is guarded, too guarded.” Her large eyes fix on her brother’s. “How can you call her an ally?”

“She’s not guarded, she’s clever. Barba has the mouth of a dockside whore, and look where it’s gotten her. The Rosbys refused to come to the mummer’s show tonight, after she told Ser Jon he didn’t have ‘the blood or the manhood’ to pay court to one of her Bracken cousins. The Darklyns haven’t forgiven her either, after she called Lady Alla ‘the Duskendale Hackney’. She’s even screamed at her own father for not giving her sufficient deference. Lady Melissa will tread far more carefully, I’m sure of it.”

“And you believe she will be an ally?”

“It is a great honor to serve at court,” Aemon reminds his sister, “especially for a mere niece of the Lord of Raventree Hall. She will remember that you picked her. And Lord Benedict too - you save him the trouble for the moment of finding his brother’s daughter a dowry, when he has daughters of his own to consider.”

“She’s not promised,” the queen points out.

“The better for you, then. No betrothal means no husband to call her away from court, if she proves useful to you, or try to shove her into his bed for his own advancement.”

“Aemon!” Her rebuke is sharp.

“You know how court is, Naerys. Lucas the Pander is Lord of Harrenhal, and gladly dons his horns every time Aegon visits the castle. I don’t doubt any husband of Lady Melissa would do the same.”

The Queen stays quiet for a few moments. “What if Melissa finds more profit with the Brackens?“ she asks finally.

Aemon smiles, warm and full, and lightly kisses her hands. “Sweet sister. When did the Brackens and the Blackwoods last fight together? In the time of our grandsire’s grandsire? The Wall will fall before they next make common cause.”

The Queen admits a half-smile. “This is true.”

“Besides,” Aemon assures her, “the Bracken is too proud to stand for a rival, especially a pretty one. She would sooner scratch out Lady Melissa’s eyes than make an ally of her.”

At his words her smile disappears. “You think her pretty?”

“Jealousy does not become you, sister,” he teases.

“Not like that.” Naerys shakes her head. “Aemon, what if …?” Her voice trails off.

“What if he wants her for himself?” Aemon shrugs carelessly. “He has to be rid of Barba first, and that is what we want most of all. Name Melissa your lady and wait for him to tire of the Bracken. Then you can keep her or dismiss her as you like.” He grins. “You are the queen, after all. You do have _some_ rights.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Lady Melissa,” Naerys begins, staring at the younger woman’s calm face. “I would have you for my lady companion.”

Melissa dips into a deep curtsy. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.”

The Queen acknowledges the gratitude with a nod, as regal as she can make it. “As my lady, you shall be expected to follow my commands.”

“As you will, Your Grace.” Melissa’s head still bows toward the Tarth marble floor.

Naerys sets her mouth in a firm line. “You shall remain in attendance on me at all times, until I dismiss you. Under no circumstances are you to leave the Red Keep, save with my leave or by the command of the king.”

Melissa nods. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“While in my service, you are to remain well-mannered, obedient, and discreet. You are not to entertain men in my chambers or your own. If you are to wed, it will be to a man chosen by the king or your lord uncle.”

The Blackwood maid stares at Naerys, her face betraying nothing behind her serene smile.

“You are not to leave my service unless you are dismissed or I grant you permission to do so. If you are wed and your lord husband gives his assent, I shall determine if you will remain as my lady.”

“I shall follow Your Grace’s instructions,“ Melissa affirms.

The next words are difficult. “Lady Melissa,” Naerys begins, before stopping. Her hands grip one another a little more tightly as she debates what to say. “You will come to understand that the court can be a place of … profane temptations.”

Melissa Blackwood blinks twice. Her mouth draws down into the most imperceptible of frowns, and her brow creases just slightly.

Naerys continues, keeping her breathing as regular as she can. “You are a maiden of some beauty. Men may seek your favors, including those of …” She struggles to find the right term to describe him. “Those of exalted standing. As my lady, I expect you to remain circumspect in your behavior. It would bring great shame upon me and your noble House for you to submit to … improper passions. If I were to find that you had done so, I should have to dismiss you from my service at once.” The queen studies Melissa Blackwood, narrowing her large violet eyes. “Do you understand, my lady?“

Melissa’s gray eyes are cool and clear, her tone serious. “I understand. I am no Bracken, Your Grace.”

"No,” Naerys agrees. “That much is certain, my lady.” She leans back slightly in her seat. “Chambers shall be prepared for you near mine own. You are dismissed, Lady Melissa.”


	5. Chapter 5

It is not long after Naerys takes Melissa as her lady companion that her husband comes to see her. **  
**

His Grace bursts into her rooms unannounced, sending her maids hurriedly falling to their knees. He comes striding in as though on hunt, standing hands on hips to survey this kingdom of trembling women. His clothes are fine - a black velvet doublet embroidered with roaring scarlet dragons, and a crimson silk cloak whipping in after him like wings - and for once he has abandoned his ridiculously large dragon head crown, in favor of a slightly smaller confection of red gold and rubies. Behind him trail courtiers in similar fashions, some adjusting the padding that has of late become fashionable in an attempt to emulate the king’s growing bulk. Barba Bracken, dressed in brown and gold silk, snorts at the sight of the kneeling queen as she hugs the king’s arm.

It is rare for the king to come to her own apartments, but Naerys understands. When Aegon is particularly pleased with one of his cruelties, he needs to have an audience. _He wouldn’t dare, if Aemon were here, she thinks_ \- but Aemon is in the yard, training his squires, as the king doubtless knows.

“Wife,” he addresses her, squinting violet eyes fixed on her downcast form.

“Your Grace,” Naerys replies.

“Why have you hidden these pretty women from me, wife?” he demands, a wolfish smile on his face as he surveys her ladies. Barba pretends to laugh along with the king, although the queen catches a moment of fury in her dark eyes.

Naerys is used to this sort of baiting. It is one of his little games, a way to embarrass her or draw her out into an argument or drive her to tears. She decides to respond mildly. “But Your Grace knows well how we welcome you here.”

For a moment, Aegon pouts, unsure of how to respond to such a neutral answer. Then at once his grin returns, and he pulls Barba closer to him. “We have an announcement for you, wife.”

Naerys gazes up at him. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Barba Bracken can no longer restrain her excitement. She flashes a brassy smile at the queen. “The royal nursery will not remain empty long.” She beams at Aegon, but his eyes are fixed on Naerys, waiting hungrily for her reaction.

For a moment her world goes silent, and the queen’s fingertips shake on her dress. As she calms her breathing, though, Naerys rises and, ignoring Barba, focuses on the king.

“Lady Barba has spoken true, Your Grace.” The queen even manages a small smile. “I had hoped to inform you in a more private setting, but I am pleased to tell you that the Mother has smiled on us again.”

Aegon’s own grin drops instantly. He glances back at his courtiers, but they offer him only sickly, confused stares. Barba’s eyes positively burn with ire, her nostrils flaring and a bright red flush rising to her cheeks. The king looks at his enraged mistress, and his mouth draws down into the small scowl his council and lords have learned to dread.

He turns back to his wife. “If you can keep this one,” he spits at her, his voice venomous.

Lords and ladies behind him duck their heads down, attempting to hide in the narrow shadows of the hall; they are used to the king’s regular humiliations of his wife, but usually he couches them in japes. Naerys stands before him, lips slightly parted, face drawn and pale as if she has just been slapped. Aegon is still glaring at his queen, his heavy jowls puffing out with anger. Only Barba looks pleased at his remark, one hand resting protectively on the stays she has already loosened.

Then Naerys feels someone beside her. Melissa Blackwood places a light hand on her shoulder and bends her head to address the queen.

“Your Grace, forgive me, but I should think you may want to rest.” She too has risen, but quickly sinks back into a deep curtsy before the king. Melissa grants Aegon her warmest smile, and employs her most winning tone. “Does Your Grace grant us leave to excuse ourselves? Her Grace the queen tires so easily now.”

The king eyes Melissa, his frown disappearing quickly as he scans her figure. “Your have an attentive lady, wife.”

Melissa dips before him again. “Lady Melissa, of House Blackwood, if it please Your Grace.”

“The poor queen,” Barba announces in mock-lament, cutting in before the king can speak again. “She is so weak she has to be helped to bed by this gawky stableboy the Blackwoods have sent her.”

The silence breaks immediately as courtiers laugh in time to Barba’s jest. Melissa smiles serenely until the crowd settles down, then addresses the king. “Your companion is a true scion of House Bracken, Your Grace. They were horse breeders, and know much and more of stablehands than we Blackwoods, who were their kings.” Her grey eyes find Barba’s, and her tone grows soft and gentle. “Is that not so, my lady?”

The laughter comes louder now, the king’s above all. “She has you there, Barba,” the king grins, and fixes his small violet eyes on Naerys. “Comely and clever, this new maid of yours, wife.”

Barba’s vibrant black eyes blaze with fury at Melissa, and her small white teeth are bared. She opens her mouth as if to reply, then shuts it and turns toward the king, tossing her long black curls defiantly. Her arm grips the king’s even more tightly. “We Brackens do know how to handle our mounts, my love. Come with me, and I shall show you again.” Barba smirks at the queen and Lady Melissa before leading Aegon away, and soon the queen’s chambers are as quiet as a motherhouse again.

When they have departed, Melissa faces Naerys fully. “Are you, Your Grace? Truly?”

Naerys gives a small nod, unable to speak.

“Thank the gods,” Melissa answers for her.

* * *

The months pass in a blur for Naerys. She takes to her chambers earlier than is customary, as the Grand Maester recommends; her health is delicate, he explains to the king, and she needs to be supervised closely. At first, Aegon protests: she is the queen, he argues, and she should be performing her queenly functions, “unless my wife is too weak to do so”. But he soon tires of the argument - to hear tell, because he is busy parading Lady Barba wherever he can, proudly foretelling the birth of a son to his mistress.

In truth, Naerys is glad for the seclusion. No men are allowed in her chambers now, except the Grand Maester; there is no danger of Aegon making an unexpected visit. Barba Bracken refuses to enter “the sickroom”, as Naerys hears the king’s mistress has named her chambers, and no courtly lady would dare be seen attending the queen while Barba is at the height of her influence. Her great sorrow is Aemon, forbidden not only from her chambers, but even from guard duty outside them. The king has ordered that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard must protect “my dear Lady Barba”, and so Aemon is always at the Bracken’s side.

Melissa Blackwood becomes the queen’s constant attendant. She smoothly assumes the management of her small household, directing her maids and running messages from Aemon and Daeron (also forbidden, although Princess Mariah does visit - because, as the princess explains, “His Grace cannot despise me more, so I lose nothing in seeing Your Grace”). When not bringing messages, Melissa remains at Naerys’ side, reading to her from _The Seven-Pointed Star_ or _The Book of Holy Prayer_ or _Lives of the High Septons_. Melissa also picks up the gossip of the court and brings it to the queen. Lady Barba, Melissa tells Naerys one evening, has taken to calling the Blackwood maid “the queen’s raven”, for her dark hair and her practice of relaying information to and from Her Grace’s chambers.

“She hopes to insult me,” Melissa adds gently, while her hands move deftly through her needlework. “Lady Barba could not be more mistaken. We Blackwoods are too fond of ravens.”

* * *

There is little time left when Melissa flies into the room, slightly panting, her eyes shining. Her curtsy is rushed, with none of her usual easy poise.

“Lady Barba is delivered of a son,” she begins, without introduction.

Naerys closes her eyes for a long moment, then opens them again. “Tell me, my lady.”

“I came straight from her chambers to yours, Your Grace,” Melissa explains. “The room was full of courtiers, I could hardly fit. Barba insisted there be witnesses, it was said. To see …” She trails off, giving Naerys an empathetic look.

“That it was the king’s son,” Naerys finishes for her. “Where was His Grace?”

“Hunting. His Grace took only a few companions with him. He refused to witness the birth, one of the household knights said.”

Aegon had not been present Daeron’s birth either, Naerys recalls. _He would not have seen him at all, if Father had not forced him to hold him_. “Continue, my lady.”

“As soon as he was born, Lady Barba took him in his arms and would let no one else touch him,” Melissa answers. She imitates Barba’s haughty tone. “‘The king must see that he is mine. He must see what a fine boy he has.’” Melissa frowns. “Even the maesters were not allowed to minister to him until the king arrived. His Grace looked at Barba and the child, and said ‘It seems I have a son now.’”

Naerys catches the obvious insult to Daeron. Her lips purse. “How is the child?”

“Large,” Melissa admits. “Black hair, like Barba’s. Purple eyes, like the king’s. A furious temper. He was quiet enough in his mother’s arms, but as soon as the king held him he began screaming, and would not stop even when the nurse took him. I could hear him screaming even as I came to your chambers, Your Grace.” 

“Have they named him?”

“Aegor, Your Grace. Barba’s choice. It was the first word she said after the birth, as soon as she was told it was a son.” Again she slips into Barba’s voice. “‘Aegor, his name is Aegor, for his father. A good Targaryen name.’” Melissa gives a small shrug. “His Grace did not appear to care. When Barba told him, he merely nodded.”

Her father had given Daeron his name as he handed the babe to Aegon - _“Daeron, for the queen’s father.”_ Aemon had told her that the blacksmith’s wife had named her daughters by Aegon herself - “smallfolk names”, Aemon had called them at the time. Naerys refocuses on Melissa Blackwood. “Where are His Grace and Lady Barba now?”

“As soon as the nurse took the child, Barba started calling for a feast, to celebrate the birth. She said she felt that she could dance that very night. But His Grace did not stay. He resumed the hunt, one of the knights said.” Melissa smiles slyly. “I can assure Your Grace, there will be no feast tonight.”

Naerys looks puzzled. “What do you mean, my lady?”

“There was gossip around Barba’s chambers. The king is growing bored with her.”

“Bored?” the queen repeats. She is all attention on Melissa Blackwood. “What is said?”

“When Barba took to her chambers, the king installed Lady Jeyne Manning in her own apartments, and courtiers were rushing to attend her.”

Naerys tries to picture the lady, but fails. “Is Lady Jeyne Lord Manning’s daughter?”

“A cousin to Lord Manning, Your Grace. Her father is a captain in the gold cloaks, and it is said he turned her over himself to the king. But she did not stay a fortnight before His Grace had sent her away and found a new favorite.”

“Oh?”

“Lady Denyse Deddings. She is kin to Barba’s mother, a lady of Barba’s own household.” Melissa drops her voice low. “It is whispered Lord Bracken pressed Lady Denyse forward to His Grace.”

“Barba’s father?” Naerys’ own voice scales up.

Melissa nods. “Her ladies have been gossiping about it. The Hand wanted one of Barba’s kin in the king’s bed during her confinement.”

“To keep the king’s favor with House Bracken,” the queen concludes.

“Lady Denyse is of an age with Barba,” Melissa adds. “Blonde and fair, but empty-headed.”

“Is the king taken with her?”

“So it is said. She has not been moved from her chambers, but she goes to the king nearly every night, with a page holding a lit taper in front of her.”

Naerys sighs. “She may be moved soon enough, perhaps.” The queen offers Lady Melissa a tired smile. “Thank you for bringing me this news, my lady.”

Melissa dips before the queen, her smile grateful. “I am yours to command, Your Grace.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next weeks are lost in a haze of blood and pain. Naerys had thought she would die ten years ago, at the birth of her poor twins, but this is worse, so much worse. Seven save me, she thinks over and over, but increasingly her prayers turn from the Mother to the Stranger, to give her release, the gift of death. **  
**

She has only one clear memory of that time. Too weak to lift her head, Naerys can only hear the midwife announce, “A daughter, Your Grace.”

It is all she can do to smile. “Lady Melissa,” Naerys calls. “Describe her to me.”

“Healthy,” Melissa answers, her face radiant. “Fine silver hair. Your eyes, Your Grace. She will be beautiful.”

Naerys thanks the Mother again and again. Only Melissa’s sweet voice draws her out of her prayers. “She would have a name, Your Grace.”

Naerys thinks a moment. She has no memories of her mother Larra, who left for Lys when she was still in swaddling clothes and died when she was not quite seven. The queen furrows her brow, then suddenly focuses on Lady Melissa. “Daenerys,” Naerys tells her. “For Queen Daenaera.”

“The dowager queen?” Melissa’s expression is pleasant, but puzzled.

“She was always kind to me.” Naerys remembers their first meeting - she a timid little princess of four, Daenaera a vision of silvery beauty at nearly six and ten. “ _You must consider me something of an elder sister,”_ her uncle’s wife had whispered in her ear as she embraced the princess, and she had never failed to dote on Naerys afterward.

 _Would that she were here_ , Naerys thinks. When her father came to the throne, Daenaera had retired to Driftmark with Daena. _“My sons are dead,”_ she had told Naerys on their last meeting, “ _and this court is no place for me anymore. Not with your kinsmen, certainly. But you are always welcome at Driftmark, so long as I live.”_ Daenaera Velaryon had laughed ruefully then, the queen recalls, though her eyes had still been kindly fixed on Naerys. _“The isle of crownless queens, we could call it.”_

Lady Melissa nods, but her smile soon falls. “There is another,” she begins in a small voice. “A twin, a son.” Her eyes mist. “I am sorry, Your Grace.”

Despite her pain and exhaustion, Naerys weeps. Melissa takes her hand and they cry quietly together. When their tears have dried, Lady Melissa meets Naerys’ eyes. “Will Your Grace name him?”

Naerys has always wanted to name a son “Aemon”, but long ago decided against it. “Viserys,” she manages, hoarse but firm. “Prince Viserys.” _How Aegon will hate to hear that_ , she thinks. She pictures the last image on her father’s face, his features curling grotesquely against the death court whispers claimed was poison, come from her husband’s hand. _You should have known it, Father_ , she tells his shade. _You poured it in holy Baelor’s cup first_.

The queen catches a look of quick understanding in Melissa Blackwood’s gray eyes before she drifts into unconsciousness again.

* * *

When she wakes again, Aemon and Melissa are by her side.

“Thank the Seven you’re alive,” Aemon breathes.”

“We feared, Your Grace,” Melissa adds. “Even the Grand Maester thought you may not live.”

The Queen thinks of her daughter. “How is Daenerys?”

“Quiet as a septa, but healthy and suckling,” Aemon answers.

“Has the king seen her?”

Melissa and the prince exchange a look. “The king has been in a temper, Your Grace.”

Naerys raises her eyebrows quizzically. “Over Daenerys?”

“Not precisely,” Aemon clarifies.

“Her nurse presented her to the king,” Melissa explains. “His Grace -” She blushes, unwilling to continue.

“He called her a ‘useless daughter’ and a ‘weak little mouse’,” Aemon finishes. “He said it was a pity his daughter had been born so late, or else Daeron would not have had to wed ‘that Dornish viper’.”

On any other day, Naerys might have bristled at the insults, for all she was used to Aegon’s caustic tongue. Today, though, the words give her a strange sort of comfort. “He did call her his daughter, though? And said she could have wed Daeron?”

“He did,” Aemon assures her. “The Grand Maester persuaded him to send ravens to the great lords announcing the birth. The king protested, until the Grand Maester reminded him that the birth of a princess of the blood and daughter of the king could not be hidden from the lords of the realm. Prince Daeron and Princess Mariah held a feast in her honor on Dragonstone, as did the dowager Queen on Driftmark. The Prince of Dorne sent a lovely white mare as a gift as well. One of their sand steeds, I’m told.”

A gratified smile crosses Naerys’ face, and a wave of relief floods her. He has not tried to disown her. He thinks of her as his own. But then she remembers the king’s temper, and her face grows solemn again. “What made His Grace so wroth?”

Lady Melissa looks to Prince Aemon, then continues. “Lady Barba laughed when she heard of the princess’ birth.” She imitates the royal mistress. “‘What a pity the king is bound to a woman who gives him a weakling daughter. If only he had a wife who could bear him a son.’” Melissa shakes her head. “It was plain to everyone what she meant, but if she had left it at that she might still be here.”

“There were great fears for you, Naerys,” Aemon continues. “No one knew if you would survive the birth. The Grand Maester even wrote to the High Septon, so that he could be ready to prepare for your funeral.” 

Naerys shivers, remembering how she summoned the Stranger. “Lady Barba knew,” she replies.

“Indeed. Lady Barba began acting as though you had already died, so confident was she that His Grace would marry her.” Melissa’s tone grows uncommonly venomous as she describes the favorite. “She ordered her dressmaker to create a new dress for her, ivory silk and Myrish lace, saying that a bride could not be wed in ‘old rags’. The ladies in her court began referring to her as ‘Your Grace’ when they were in her chambers, and her son as ‘the little prince’. She even started calling Your Grace ‘the late queen’ or ‘His Grace’s late consort’.”

“Lord Bracken as well,” Aemon adds. “He sent to the Citadel for precedents on whether a child born to parents who married after his birth could be declared legitimate. He forced every courtier to kneel before they addressed him, saying that he was soon to be father of a queen and grandfather of a royal prince. It was even said he brought Barba’s babe into the throne room, and told him ‘One day you will sit where I sit now, lad, and rule the Seven Kingdoms’.”

Naerys’ mouth hangs open, silent with shock.

“Three days ago, the Grand Maester said that he was certain you would live, although you would be weak for some time.” Aemon makes a wry face. “You can imagine how that sat with the Brackens.

“Treason,” she breathes. “Seven save them.”

“Barba’s court began betraying her immediately,” Melissa continues. “Her cousin Lyle, one of the king’s pages, brought His Grace letters she had drafted to Lords Tully and Tyrell, styling herself ‘Queen of the Seven Kingdoms’ and her son as ‘Aegor, Prince of Dragonstone’. One of her maids told His Grace of a cloak of hers, with the Targaryen dragon quartered with House Bracken’s stallion.” A look of disdain crosses her face. “I had it from some of the maids in her household that it was Denyse Deddings who whispered to His Grace about it, while the two were abed.”

Aemon nods. “Daeron was furious. You should have seen him, sister. He set sail immediately from Dragonstone and addressed Aegon in front of the whole court, insisting that our brother try Lord Bracken and Lady Barba for treason, or else abandon all claim to justice. Aegon bellowed at him, called him an arrogant knave and a traitor himself, but Daeron’s court stood with him - Lord Hayford, Steffon Celtigar, and Jason Massey all echoed his words.”

“Prince Aemon also spoke for you, Your Grace,” Melissa notes. “He told the king that if he refused to try Lady Barba and the Hand, he would embolden traitors throughout the realm.”

The prince looks away to hide his smile, though Naerys beams at him. “Did His Grace try them?”

“No,” Aemon says. “Lord Bracken went to the king’s solar and insisted the accusations were calumnies. It was all a Dornish plot, he said, to seat Daeron and Baelor on the throne. I stood outside the chamber and heard it all. Aegon called him a fool, said that he had committed treason and that the price was death. At this Lord Bracken wept and went to his knees, pleading that the king believe him and not Prince Daeron. Aegon told him that, since he pled so well, he would only take his hands, not his head. Lord Bracken wept more, until our brother laughed and ripped the chain of office from his neck. Then he ordered Lord Bracken to pack up his ‘whore of a daughter’ and her court and leave before the sun rose the next day.”

“So they are gone?”

Melissa nods. “Her chambers are as quiet as Oldstones. One of the household knights said they left in the hour of the wolf, for Stone Hedge. Even the babe was taken from the nursery, though he would not stop crying until his mother carried him herself.”

 _Barba Bracken gone. Daeron is still the heir. I am still his wife_. “Thank the gods,” she says softly. “Thank you, brother, my lady.”

Melissa curtsies, and Prince Aemon kisses his sister’s hand. Then they depart, and Naerys sinks back easily, grateful for the still silence.


	7. Chapter 7

“How long has he been in his chambers?”

“Almost a week.” Prince Aemon leans easily against the wall. “A lifetime, for him.”

Naerys pretends to adopt Aemon’s relaxed posture in her seat, but she cannot hide the excitement in her voice. “And there has been no sign of him emerging?”

”Not anytime soon, I should think. Some have been in to see him, but all he’s done is sulk.”

 _No danger of him coming here unannounced_ , she thinks, a small grin tugging at her cheeks. _No cruel words, no japes, no bedding_. It is as good as a nameday present for her. _Or better_. “What of the small council?”

Her brother snorts. “You presume, my dear sister, that His Grace ever cared about the small council at all.”

Naerys catches herself laughing, just a little. “Even so. What do your brothers of the Kingsguard say? Surely they have seen him.”

“Oh, he’s no more kindly disposed toward them than he is toward his councilors. Especially if they start mentioning their pretty sisters.”

Naerys casts curious eyes on her brother. “Oh?”

“You’d think that Barba had never existed at all, for the way some have been shoving their daughters and sisters and cousins at him. Not two days after the Brackens fled, Androw Cargyll showed our brother a locket with a portrait of his maiden sister in it. To let His Grace see the fine work coming out of Myr, Ser Androw claimed, but that fooled no one.” Prince Aemon sniffs. “The Cargylls always did have more valor than sense. Our brother snapped that if Androw were so enamored with Myr, he would make a gift of him to the Myrish conclave. I haven’t seen Ser Androw around court since.”

“And Lady Barba? Any word of her?”

“Not a one. The Brackens are licking their wounds at Stone Hedge.” Aemon chuckles. “You know, our uncle Velaryon told me once that when he was a boy, he was nearly roasted alive by a dragon. He would have been its supper, he swore, if his brother hadn’t flown up on his own dragon and beaten it back.”

“Uncle Alyn has always been full of tales,” Naerys replies, her mouth turning into a frown.

The prince shrugs. “Mayhaps. But you’d think these lords would have learned the danger of rousing a dragon in his den.”

* * *

The queen and Melissa Blackwood sit in her apartments, the great tapestry spread out before them. Naerys had chosen the design long ago - Hugor of the Hill, first of the Faithful, receiving his starry crown from the Seven. The Maiden stretches one pale arm, plucking lights from the heavens, while the Warrior on his right points his sword toward the western darkness and the Crone on his left offers Hugor her own lamp.

“You do fine work, my lady,” the queen compliments Melissa.

Lady Melissa nods gratefully. “Thank you, Your Grace. Will you hang this in your chambers when it’s completed?”

Naerys considers. “I was thinking of making a gift of it to my cousin Rhaena.”

“The Septa-Princess.” Melissa ceases her work for a moment, furrowing her brow to think. “She lives among the white septas at their motherhouse here in the city, does she not?”

“Indeed she does, my lady.” Naerys briefly lifts her eyes from the scene before them. “You know of the white septas?”

“The white septas devote themselves to the Maiden. They seclude themselves within their motherhouses and spend their days in prayer and contemplation for the virtue of all maidens.” She smiles knowingly. “Mine uncle’s wife, Lady Shella, keeps the new gods. She was ever wont to quote the Book of the Maiden at me.”

“It is a worthy book for all maidens,” Naerys responds, almost without thinking.

“Lady Shella would say nearly the same, Your Grace,” Melissa replies. Her voice remains calm as she continues. “The blue septas devote themselves to the Mother, do they not?”

“That is so, my lady.” The queen looks at Melissa, who still focuses on her work. “Is there something you wished to know of them?”

“I have heard, Your Grace, that Lady Jeyne Manning is among them, and in a most unfortunate position.”

“Indeed?” Naerys slows. “What has befallen her?”

Melissa’s hands continue to move through the tapestry work. “After she was dismissed from court, Lady Jeyne returned to her father’s household, here in King’s Landing. Her father … I would not repeat all the language he employed in Your Grace’s presence, but he told her that if she stayed any longer in his home, he would take her and sell her himself to the Street of Silk.”

A memory springs suddenly to Naerys’ mind - the queen herself, at four and ten, approaching her father in his solar to ask that she be allowed to join the white septas. The prince had been bent over a stack of royal orders, preparing them for the king’s signature, and the dying candle had cast ragged shadows on his face. _“Aegon could wed Daena”_ , she recalls arguing, marveling now at her boldness, _“he does not need me”_. Prince Viserys had raised his dark indigo eyes briefly from his paper to glare at the suggestion, before scribbling away again. _“Don’t be foolish, Naerys. You’re to be wed to Aegon. I will not have you bringing more shame and scandal upon this family.”_ He had waved her out without another word.

The queen shakes her head. “A cruel man.”

Melissa nods. “Lady Jeyne was then said to have fled to the motherhouse of the blue septas. I understand the blue septas have been known to assist ladies in … unfortunate circumstances.”

“On some occasions, my lady.” In truth, it was more common for orphaned babes to be left for the blue septas at birth, to be raised as septas or septons themselves, rather than for their mothers - especially highborn ones - to seek protection behind their walls. “Lady Jeyne shall doubtless take the vows of a septa, once her circumstances allow.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Melissa agrees, “though even at Raventree Hall we hear stories of unrepentant ladies fleeing the sanctuary of the motherhouse.” She pauses. “Perhaps Your Grace might make a match for her.”

“My lady?” Naerys cocks her head in surprise.

“Not a grand match,” Melissa adds. “A household knight, perhaps, under the care of His Grace the Prince of Dragonstone.”

Naerys stops and studies Melissa Blackwood. “You are charitably inclined, my lady, to think of this Lady Jeyne.”

“Your Grace is kind,” Melissa smiles, “but perhaps there may be some advantage to Your Grace in this as well.”

The Mother’s adoring face is still half finished, but Naerys has abandoned the tapestry completely. “Say on, Lady Melissa.”

“His Grace the king …” Melissa bites her lip. “Your Grace will forgive my saying so, but His Grace has not always been circumspect in his conduct.”

 _Aemon would have roared at that, if he were here_ , Naerys thinks ruefully, and for once thanks the Warrior that Aemon is busy with his squires.

“I need not remind Your Grace of the … the consequences of such conduct.” Melissa flushes and lowers her grey eyes, yet continues. “Yet Your Grace knows well that His Grace enjoys … a certain fondness toward these consequences.”

The queen thinks of Daemon Waters, a laughing babe with silvery hair and deep purple eyes. Daena had refused to name his father - _“to taunt Baelor”_ , her own father had insisted - but she had died when he was not quite half a year old. Aegon had wasted no time installing the boy in the Red Keep when he came to the throne. _“We have to take care of our nephew, wife,”_ he had told her as he held the babe, and threw back his head to laugh, as though it were the greatest jape ever told. She had seen Daemon in the nursery after that, in black silk and scarlet brocade, attended like a royal prince. _And there are others, too_ … One of Falena Lothston’s sons was a squire to Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, and though the boy did not seem to share the king’s silver-gold hair or violet eyes, Aegon always grinned to see him. _Now with Barba’s babe_ … The queen sighs.

“If …” Melissa halts between her words, twisting her long fingers. “If Lady Jeyne were to become involved in these … consequences, His Grace might renew his fondness for her. Or any of her … kin.”

Naerys frowns. _She makes some sense. And if Jeyne were to start parading a silver-haired babe here in the city_ … “Do you have some idea for this match, my lady?”

“It is said Lord Argos Sunglass is a pious man, Your Grace, as is his bannerman Lord Sweet. I understand his son Tristan Sweet is a knight of Lord Celtigar’s household guard.”

Naerys stares at her in wonder. “You know my son’s lords bannermen well, my lady. How did you come to learn all this?”

Again Melissa’s cheeks flush. “It is of no consequence, Your Grace. I merely tell Your Grace what I have heard.”

The queen moves her hands through the tapestry and thinks aloud. “Of course, if Lady Jeyne were to marry Ser Tristan, they would be obligated to live on Claw Isle.” The queen pictures the lonely, windswept castle in the Narrow Sea, where old Lord Bayard kept a very quiet court. _Far from the capital_.

“Such was my thinking, Your Grace.” She pauses, then adds almost as an afterthought, “the Houses of the Narrow Sea oft marry among one another, do they not, Your Grace?”

“Indeed they do, my lady.”

“I believe Lord Sweet married a woman of Driftmark,” Melissa replies. She gives the queen a pointed look.

Naerys looks at her a moment, before her eyes widen in realization. “I see. You have thought well on this, my lady.”

Melissa smiles, but suddenly bows her head. “I would never think to command Your Grace in anything, of course.”

”Lady Melissa,” Naerys replies, taking Melissa’s long pale fingers in her own. “I would not have made you my lady if I did not wish to hear your counsel.”

Melissa returns her warm expression. “I only seek to serve, Your Grace.”

Naerys lifts her head and calls to one of the serving maids. “Bring me the Princess Daenerys. I would see my daughter.”

The maid returns with the baby princess, still asleep in her arms. Naerys holds her, looking again at the fine wisps of silver-gold clinging to her head, the rosebud mouth so often turned into a pout on her father’s face, the lids which covered delicate amethyst eyes. “Would you care to hold her, my lady?”

Melissa accepts the babe, and cradles her with a natural grace. _She would make a good mother_ , Naerys muses as she watches Melissa draw one long, delicate finger along her daughter’s hair, and whisper softly to the sleeping princess.


	8. Chapter 8

The evening is Melissa Blackwood’s idea. Melissa, with Naerys’ approval, is still serving as “the queen’s raven”, picking up pieces of gossip and bringing them back to the queen.

“Lady Ellyn Cafferen keeps the merriest court in the castle, Your Grace,” Melissa notes. “There are never fewer than half a dozen knights and ladies in her chambers. Singers, mummers, even wandering brown brothers said to have the gift of prophecy.”

“Is that so?” Long ago - or so it seems to Naerys - Ser Roger Bolling had petitioned King Baelor to have his daughter Ellyn made a lady companion to the princesses in the Maidenvault. The king had refused. “ _The Bollings were born of lust and weakness_ ,” he had proclaimed. “ _How can we trust a Bolling to guard the chastity of our sisters, which is dearer to us than all the treasure of our realm_?” Years later, Aemon had told her that their father had written a more tactful letter to Ser Roger, offering his daughter a place with Dowager Queen Daenaera instead - all while fuming to Aemon that the king was “ _the greatest fool who ever lived_ ”.

Lady Melissa nods. “Her lord husband never seems to be present for these amusements.”

“With the small council, perhaps? Or at his work?” 

“Of a sort.” Melissa purses her lips. “Lord Cafferen is kept busy selling access to His Grace. It’s common knowledge about the court, no petition for an audience will be glanced at unless a purse of dragons for Lord Edwell accompanies it. Some of the Kingsguard are in his pay as well. Ser Joffrey tells him which lords the king mocks, Ser Tommen tells him when the king rages at Prince Daeron, and Ser Terrence tells him who shares the king’s bed. I am told that Lord Cafferen will sell any of these secrets, for the right price. There is a jape about it, among some of the household knights. ‘Only a man with a two-faced sigil could be as corrupt as Lord Edwell.’” 

The Queen nods at the obvious jest. “Does His Grace know of this?”

Melissa looks apologetic. “I do not wish to speak ill of His Grace, but Lord Edwell presents the king with a judgment for each petitioner before he arrives, and His Grace is said to accept whatever judgment Lord Edwell offers. The greater the purse for Lord Cafferen, then … you understand, Your Grace.”

“I do.” Naerys frowns. Aemon had told her since the first day of their brother’s reign that Aegon’s council’s capacity for bribery was enormous. _Seven save him, and the realm_. “You were speaking of Lady Ellyn’s amusements, I believe, Lady Melissa.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. Lady Ellyn cannot be a moment without some activity in her chambers, and friends and kin about her. It has led to some … unkind rumors.”

“About Lady Ellyn?”

Melissa blushes slightly. “It is said that Lady Ellyn and Ser Bors Buckler are - involved, Your Grace.”

“Her sister’s widower?” Naerys shudders. _A woman who would bed her own goodbrother_ … “Does Lord Edwell know?”

A brighter flush fills Melissa’s cheeks, and she bows her head. “Lord Edwell does, Your Grace.”

“And he has not said a word about his wife’s infidelity?” 

Melissa twists her fingers and glances up at Naerys. “If Your Grace will forgive my mentioning it …”

The queen gives her lady a nod. 

“Lord Edwell, so it is said, had hoped to profit on the departure of Lady Barba and the Brackens by making his wife the king’s mistress. If Lady Ellyn shared the king’s bed, Lord Edwell hoped that His Grace might name him Hand.”

Naerys recalls her conversation with Aemon. “But the king refused?”

“No. Lady Ellyn did, Your Grace, before Lord Edwell ever approached the king.”

“Oh?” 

“The Cafferens had a furious argument. Her maids were trembling as they retold it. Lady Ellyn told her husband that if he could choose to take a washerwoman into his bed, she could choose Ser Bors Buckler to be her paramour. Lord Edwell was no better than Lucas Lothston, she said, and she would not have him putting her in the king’s bed. Lord Edwell then said that he had married a whore, and Lady Ellyn replied that her lord husband did not seem to mind, as long as she was the king’s whore.”

 _Mother, save them both_ , Naerys prays silently as she listens. On their wedding night, Aegon had recited to her the name of every woman he had ever bedded, and then asked that she did the same with every man who had been in her bed. When Naerys, weeping, had told him that she was still a maiden, Aegon had called her “ _a bad whore, and a worse liar_ ”. Not a night had gone by where they had shared a bed that Aegon had not recounted to her his day’s conquests. 

“The Cafferens face a great scandal now,” Lady Melissa continues. “Lady Ellyn is reported to be with child. Lord Edwell has sworn that if the child resembles Ser Bors, he will denounce it as a bastard and seek to have his marriage to Lady Ellyn put aside.”

Naerys gasps. “A marriage made before the Seven? He couldn’t.”

Lady Melissa shakes her head. “I know but little of the Faith of the Seven, Your Grace. I could not say what Lord Edwell means to do. But Ser Bors is second in command of the gold cloaks, Lord Edwell the master of laws. I do not believe His Grace would permit a scandal to - to touch him, if Your Grace will pardon me saying so.” 

_Barba Bracken proved as much. And Cassella Vaith, before her_. Naerys remembers how their father had roared when he discovered Aegon was keeping the blacksmith’s wife in her own house in the capital, and treating her like his bride. “ _The boy has no care for scandal_ ,” Prince Viserys had sworn. _Perhaps Aegon learned a lesson from Father after all_. “Indeed, my lady.”

“If Lord Edwell were to bring a case for annulment before the High Septon, any man who suspected his wife of infidelity might try the same.” Melissa’s large gray eyes meet Naerys’, and she pauses for a long moment. “But if Lord Cafferen suspected that Your Grace and Prince Aemon and Prince Daeron would take his wife’s part, and a great scandal would arise if he accused her … Lord Cafferen would dare not risk his position and his - his income merely to avenge himself against his lady wife.” Melissa smiles. “Your Grace can also show that you are healthy and well before the court. Perhaps your presence might dissuade some courtiers from trying to disturb the marriage between Your Grace and His Grace the king.”

* * *

“You play very beautifully, my lady.”

Lady Cafferen flashes a self-assured smile at the queen, and gives her a proud little nod. “My thanks, Your Grace.”

In truth, Naerys thinks, Lady Ellyn plays the high harp quite badly, but she tells herself it would be uncharitable to say as much. Still, she could not play with less confidence. Even on a sad song like “Alysanne”, Lady Ellyn sings loudly, plucking the strings with fervor. If Lady Cafferen is bothered by the whisperings and gigglings of the other ladies around her, she shows no sign of it.

“You see, Your Grace?” Melissa whispers to her during the song. “You’ve convinced Lady Cafferen you support her.” 

Rosamund Mooton, wife of one of the captains serving under the master of ships, looks to the queen and her lady at the end of the song. “Lady Melissa. You have yet to grace us with a song. Perhaps you will sit at the high harp.”

“Oh no, my lady,” Melissa insists. “I had only a few lessons at Raventree Hall. Lady Ellyn plays far more sweetly than I can.”

“I am sure Lady Ellyn would allow you to play.” She looks to Ellyn Cafferen, her voice a command, not a question. “Would you, my lady?”

Lady Ellyn rises. “But of course.” She strides over to where Ser Bors is standing and chooses a seat near him, still beaming.

“What should I play?” Melissa asks aloud as she takes a seat before the high harp. 

“Something romantic,” Lady Rosamund suggests. “Play ‘Two Hearts That Beat As One.”

Her cousin Laena Velaryon had played that song at her own wedding, Naerys recalls, her silver hair as long and shining as the high harp’s strings. Lady Baela and Lord Alyn had traded only a few icy courtesies during the feast, but both had looked with pride on their daughter then. As Lady Laena had moved her hands along the high harp, Aegon had leaned over to his new wife and whispered that the pale scar on her arm was his doing, a bite he had inflicted as he bedded her. 

The song ends, and Melissa turns toward the queen. Naerys claps at once, and belatedly Ellyn Cafferen’s ladies join her. “Play another song, my lady,” the queen calls to her. “Play ‘Six Maids in a Pool’.”

Lady Melissa has only begun to play when two shadows fall over the room. A voice booms out from the doorway. “What? Is this Jonquil’s Pool? But where are my bathing maids?”

Naerys turns her head to see her husband, standing with Lord Cafferen at the entrance to Lady Ellyn’s chambers. His face is twisted into a hungry, vicious smile, and his eyes are locked on her. 

The crowd in Lady Ellyn’s chambers smiles obediently at King Aegon’s jest and sinks to the floor. Naerys closes her eyes and calms her breathing. 

“My lord of Cafferen entreated me to join his wife in her chambers this evening.” The king chuckles at his own suggestion. “From out in the hall we could hear this beautiful music. I swore to Lord Edwell that we were in Maidenpool, and Jonquil herself was singing to us.”

 _Jonquil did not sing that song, husband, the song was about her_. Naerys keeps her head bowed, barely glancing up at Aegon.

Only then does the king let his eye fall on Melissa Blackwood. “Ah! And this is our Jonquil, is it?”

Melissa falls into a curtsy before him. “Your Grace.”

He flicks his small violet eyes at Naerys. “And you, wife. I did not know you were well enough to rise from your bed.”

Naerys keeps her head bowed and her voice mild. “But Your Grace has not honored us with your presence.” She raises her eyes and meets the king’s gaze with as much courage as she can. “We have been awaiting your summons most eagerly for some days.” 

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Melissa adds eagerly. “Her Grace the queen has lit candles before the Crone and the Father every day, praying for your good health.”

“Has she?” the king asks, eyeing Naerys with suspicion. She watches him scowl, thinking of an insult, before his face brightens. “Then I suppose you will not oppose my summons this evening?” 

Naerys is not the only lady left blushing at the king’s frank remark. “I am Your Grace’s loyal wife and servant, as Your Grace knows.”

“And you, Lady Melissa?” He stares at the Blackwood maid, still dropped into her curtsy. “Are you my loyal servant as well?”

“I am Your Grace’s humble subject,” she replies sweetly. “I live to serve Your Grace, and Her Grace the queen, and all the princes of the royal House.” She nods at the king and queen in turn, and offers him a wide smile.

Naerys bites her lip to hide her own smile. Aegon pouts a moment, folding his arms across his burgeoning chest. “How - loyal of you, Lady Melissa.” He turns his attention again to the queen. “Well, wife. Since you are so eager that I come out of my chambers and spend time with you, you will join me on a journey You and your lady.”

The queen is used to the king’s whims, but even she is surprised. “My lord?”

Aegon shows his teeth inside his small mouth, in imitation of a grin. “To Raventree Hall.” He turns toward Lady Melissa. “Lord Benedict will not mind, I trust. We have been told the hunting and hawking around your lord uncle’s lands is most excellent, my lady.”

Melissa gazes up at the king, confusion, embarrassment, and family pride battling in her long features. “Your Grace has - has heard truly.”

“Then we shall go!” Aegon snaps his fingers at the Lord of Fawnton. “Cafferen. Find my council, tell them we leave on the morrow, arrange it.”

“The morrow, Your Grace?” Lord Cafferen runs a hand through his auburn hair. “Perhaps Your Grace might delay a few days …”

The king turns on his heel, glaring at Lord Edwell. “If you feel the task exceeds your capabilities, Cafferen, perhaps you ought to return to Fawnton. That’s a much smaller fief to manage.”

The master of laws blushes a fiery color to match his locks. “No, Your Grace. It will be arranged.”

“Very well.” The king surveys the chambers, studying the ladies before focusing on Naerys again. “Wife.” He nods at Lady Melissa. “My lady. We will see more of you.” A last command, and the king departs.


	9. Chapter 9

The wheelhouse jostles and bounces along the road. 

_Aegon was always one for flight_ , she muses. Riding to Fairmarket for the hunting. Riding to Harrenhal to see Lady Falena. Riding to the Reach to try himself in one tourney or another and boasting of his victories. _“I should have had a dragon,”_ Naerys had once heard him complaining to Prince Aemon, after he returned muddy and soaked from a sudden downpour on the road. _“Our father never had a dragon,”_ Prince Aemon had pointed out. _“Yet he’s managed quite well.”_

Naerys sighs. There are only four of them in the wheelhouse, yet she had felt less cramped on the day of her wedding, packed among a sea of courtiers. Beside her sits Lady Melissa, her long fingers in the queen’s own, staring impassively ahead. Across sits the king, arms stuffed into one another across his broad chest, squinting at the head of the wheelhouse as though he could see through the wood to the road before them. Their only fellow passenger lounges too easily near the king, his snow-white cloak wrinkled under him and a black heart clasping it to his shoulder.

“Seven hells,” the king swears, drumming his fingers. “It was never this long riding. How far are we, Toyne?”

“We should reach Harrenhal before evening, Your Grace.”

Aegon grunts in answer, then turns to Melissa. “Have you been formally introduced?” He extends a hand to the knight beside him. “My newest Kingsguard. Half my brother’s age, and twice the talent. Wouldn’t you say, wife?”

Naerys glances at Ser Terrence Toyne. At three and twenty, he still has boyish looks despite his long frame: black curls that fall artlessly over his brows, black eyes that strip every passing woman, a mouth which sneers more than it smiles. _“Seven send him with you, and gladly,”_ Aemon had told Naerys as they left. _“It is all I can do to keep him out of trouble here.”_

She looks back at the king. “As you will, Your Grace.”

Aegon huffs, and addresses Lady Melissa. “My wife has no eye for knighthood. We’ll have a joust when we return to the capital, and you’ll see Ser Terrence unseat our brother every time.”

“I should like to see that match, Your Grace,” Lady Melissa answers, with a pleasant smile for the young knight. “I am sure Ser Terrence would give Prince Aemon good sport.”

“Aye,” he nods. “Did you know he won Lord Olyvar’s tourney at Storm’s End when he was seven and ten? Unhorsed Ser Edmund Connington, crowned Lady Baratheon queen of love and beauty, and demanded as his prize a kiss from each of their daughters!” The king hoots at his own story, then turns toward Ser Terrence. “You should have claimed their maidenheads instead.”

Ser Terrence grins, which makes the king laugh harder. “Hot-blooded and dark. Are you sure some Dornishman didn’t ravish an ancestor of yours?”

The knight bristles, his smile instantly dropping. “No, Your Grace. The Toynes would never stoop so low.”

“Oh, the Dornish will fuck anything with a prick or a hole.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Dragonstone. “That little wench they married to Daeron, half a hundred men have probably been in and out of her bed.”

“Princess Mariah is very virtuous, lord husband,” Naerys counters.

“Virtuous as a Dornishwoman,” Aegon scoffs. “And gentle as a viper, too. You would take her part, though.”

Naerys deflects the insult, turning toward Melissa. “Lady Melissa. Your father was knighted in Dorne, was he not?”

She nods. “He was with Lord Tully’s host, and was knighted by His Grace King Daeron at Sunspear.” Her voice grows soft. “But he fell at Brimstone, Your Grace.”

“Brimstone.” The king spits out the name. “Monsters along that river. Your father died valiantly, my lady. We all saw such hard fighting against the Dornishmen. 

_As much as our cousin Daeron did, lord husband? And our brother Aemon?_ The questions are almost on her lips, though she would never dare to say them aloud. _Where were you, when two dozen Dornishmen swarmed out of the mountains to kill the king? When the Wyls caged Aemon and would have killed him, but for Baelor? Abed with Cassella Vaith?_

Lady Melissa’s face remains serene. “You are kind to say so, Your Grace.” 

Aegon snorts. “We never see you at our entertainments anyway, my lady.” He shoots a petulant glance at Naerys. 

“I am bound to obey, Your Grace,” Melissa replies. She nods toward the queen. “I’m happy to serve Her Grace.”

“And does she need you so often?” 

“Lady Melissa has been a great help to me,” Naerys interjects, with more force than she is used to using. “And has it not been written in the Maiden’s Book that young women should avoid all idleness and selfish pleasures, and devote themselves to work and charity?”

The king’s silvery eyebrows arch in surprise. A mocking smile twists his mouth. “You do so well at quoting _The Seven-Pointed Star_ , wife. Perhaps you ought to have been a septa.”

Ser Terrence hoots at the king’s jest. Naerys sees the wicked glint in Aegon’s violet eyes. After the birth of Daeron she had pleaded with Aegon to allow her to enter the motherhouse of the white septas, with her cousin Rhaena. _“I have given you an heir,”_ she argued, _“I have done my duty. We can live as brother and sister now.”_ Aegon had laid a hand on her tiny shoulder then, and his voice had been almost tender. _“Sweet sister, didn’t anyone tell you? That is what we’re doing.”_

Naerys breathes deeply before replying. “But the Seven have called me to be a queen, my husband, and what they have ordained cannot be put aside.”

Lady Melissa, still smiling, looks to the queen and gives her the slightest nod. The king pouts, then glares at Terrence Toyne. “Seven hells, Toyne, sit up. This isn’t your whore’s bed.”

* * *

The Grand Maester had once told her that Harrenhal was so large that all the great families, with their retainers and households, could live within its walls without ever seeing one another. Naerys cannot say whether that is true, but she is glad for its great size this evening. “You should take your residence in the Widow’s Tower, wife,” Aegon has told her, beaming at the imagined insult. “We would not want our hosts of Lothston to be overburdened with you.”

In her chambers, Melissa helps Naerys prepare for bed. “His Grace will not be sharing this tower with us, will he?” 

“No.” The answer is firm and immediate. _Not after tonight_.

Naerys would never have guessed that two decades had passed from Falena’s banishment to Harrenhal, for the way she appeared when the Lothstons greeted them. Lady Falena still had the fiery red hair Naerys remembered, though now with streaks of gray at the temples, and she still smiled as graciously as she had when she had been a Stokeworth of Stokeworth. Beside her stood Lucas Lothston, Lord of Harrenhal, still fair-haired but with a small pointed beard to match, who bowed dramatically before the king and told him “Harrenhal is yours, Your Grace”. The Lothston children had been paraded before the royal couple as well. Manfryd, a tall young knight of eight and ten with the same red hair as Lady Falena, had bowed to the king, while Jeyne, a girl of eight with white-blond hair, curtsied. Aegon had smiled at each and said that the girl’s eyes shone like jewels - though when Lord Lucas had asked “Like amethysts, Your Grace?”, Aegon had roared with laughter. 

After their meal, Aegon had asked to be shown the way to his chambers, and Lord Lucas had smiled. “My lady,” he had called out to Lady Falena, “perhaps you might show His Grace where he might retire”. The queen thought she saw a flicker of discomfort in Falena’s eyes, but in a moment the Lady of Harrenhal had risen and extended her arm to the king, departing. Naerys had wondered where Lucas Lothston would be spending the night. _King Harren never built a Cuckold’s Tower here._

Naerys turns toward Melissa and gives a wry smile. “I am glad of these apartments, my lady. My lord husband does me an honor. These were the rooms of a queen.”

“Rhaena the Mournful,” Melissa replies. “My lady mother told me the story, Your Grace.”

“Is that so?” Naerys has never heard this name for Queen Rhaena. “Tell me what your lady mother said.”

Now it is Melissa’s turn to smile, though sadly. “The Widow’s Tower was named for her. Princess Rhaena loved Aegon the Uncrowned and wed him, but King Maegor murdered him at the Gods Eye. He forced her to marry him afterwards, but then the Iron Throne killed him for usurping the crown. Her third husband was wicked and jealous of her kind heart, so he slew her companions and then threw himself from a high tower. Then her daughters died, and Rhaena came here to live out her days. My lady mother told me Rhaena’s ghost still walks about now, looking for her lost friends and kin. If I wandered too far from Raventree Hall, she was sure to mistake me for one of her daughters and steal me away.” Melissa shivers.

“Your lady mother ...” Naerys begins, but Melissa quickly shakes her head. “She passed when I was eleven, Your Grace. An accident while riding. It was no one’s fault.” Her long face bows. 

Naerys’ own mother had fled Westeros when she was not a year old. She had not even known her mother’s name for her first years; her father never mentioned her, and the nurses and servants in her household only shook their heads and said that Prince Viserys had forbidden it. Sometimes she had liked to pretend that Queen Daenaera was her mother, but Aegon had found out about that. _“You’re so stupid,”_ her brother had told her. _“The queen can’t be our mother, because then Father would be king.”_

She eventually did find out the truth. When Naerys was seven, a bird had arrived at the Red Keep, saying that a Lady Larra Rogare had died of a wasting illness. Queen Daenaera had wept, and the king looked even more sad and solemn than usual, but Naerys had never heard of Lady Larra Rogare, and she went to her father to ask. Prince Viserys had glared at her, then said “Your mother. She’s dead. Never speak of her again.” 

“What was her name?” Naerys asks.

“Alysanne Grey, Your Grace. Her father was Ser Endrew Grey, one of my grandfather’s bannermen.”

Naerys takes her hand. “I am sorry for you, my lady. I am sure she was a good mother to you.”

“She was, Your Grace. Lady Shella is …” Melissa glances away from the queen.

“Not your mother,” Naerys finishes for her. “I am sure she is a good lady wife to your uncle of Blackwood, but she will never take the place of Lady Alysanne.”

“No, Your Grace.” Melissa’s eyes fall on the queen again. “I am glad Your Grace understands.”


	10. Chapter 10

The rain comes cool and misty in the fields around Raventree Hall.

“My apologies for the poor weather, Your Grace,” Lord Benedict had told his royal guest that morning; head bowed, he was still of a height with the king. “Perhaps Your Grace would rather …”

“I would rather _hunt_ , Blackwood,” Aegon had replied with an impatient toss of his head. “A little rain never stopped real hunters.” He had looked to Naerys then, with Lady Melissa at her side. “But perhaps you’d rather stay in, wife? I am sure Lady Melissa would not mind going in your stead.”

“No,” the queen responds with a sudden force, her hand automatically taking Melissa’s. She catches Lord Blackwood’s curious stare, and steadies her voice. “My place is at your side, my sweet husband. Where you go, I will as well.”

So Naerys had mounted up in the saddle, her falcon on her glove. Around her, the Blackwoods had taken up their mounts: Lord Blackwood, his wife Shella, their sons Quentyn and Benarr. Melissa Blackwood is riding a white palfrey, and the king had eyed her from atop a large black stallion. As they ride out from the castle grounds the king takes the lead with Melissa at his side. Lord Blackwood sets his pace beside the queen, while behind them Ser Terrence Toyne converses lightly with Lady Shella. 

“Your Grace,” Lord Benedict begins, with smooth courtesy. “Have you ever visited Raventree Hall?”

“Never, my lord.” She looks to him, softens her tone. “We travel so little, His Grace and I.”

“To be sure,” Lord Blackwood nods. “It is quite a ride from King’s Landing to Raventree Hall. His Grace honors us by his visit.”

“He - he mentioned the hunting was excellent, my lord,” Naerys explains. Ahead, Aegon leans down to whisper something to Lady Melissa.

Lord Benedict watches the king for a moment, but soon returns his gaze to the queen and chuckles. “I see His Grace is wise as well as brave. There is no finer chase than Blackwood Vale, whatever the Brackens might say.” 

Naerys thinks of Aegon’s hunts in their youth, how he would always return bloody from hand to heel, holding the head or hide of whatever he had slain. She shivers slightly at the thought. “What else do you do at Raventree Hall, my lord?”

“My sons oft practice archery. Benarr still needs to grow some, but Quentyn can put an arrow in the eye of a target at fifty yards.”

“And Lady Melissa? Did she practice at the bow as well?”

Their mounts wade into a stream, crystalline waters splashing and laughing around them. Lord Benedict frowns, briefly. “Oh - yes, Your Grace. I have seen her a few times at the targets. She is passable, for a maid of course, though she hasn’t the strength for the longbow.”

“There was a Blackwood maid in the Dance of the Dragons, who bore a bow,” Naerys replies. “Black Aly Blackwood.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. She wed Lord Stark, I believe.” His tone is pleasant, but short.

Naerys remembers a day long ago, when King Daeron returned to court from his victories in Dorne. Daena had come before the Iron Throne, still in her hunting garb, and her smile was a twin to Daeron’s, high above her. “For my sweet sister,” he had said, and motioned for a servant to approach with a bundle wrapped in bright Dornish silk. “A Dornish bow. May you be twice as fierce with it as the warriors we slew.” Daena had beamed and promised to use it that very day in the yard; Prince Viserys had only frowned. 

The riders enter a clearing, and the falcons bolt from their gloves, rising into the gray skies. Naerys follows her bird until it seems no bigger than a starling against the streaked clouds above them. Nearby, the king points a leather hand at his own falcon, and Naerys studies Melissa’s grey eyes as they follow the line of the king’s finger. 

Lord Blackwood eyes them as well, but in a moment focuses on Naerys again. “I must thank you again for taking my lady niece into your service, Your Grace.”

“My lord is too kind. Melissa is all I could ask for in a lady.”

“She was still half a babe when my brother died, and then her lady mother …”

“Lady Alysanne?” Naerys interrupts. “Lady Melissa had mentioned her to me.”

Lord Blackwood raises his eyebrows in surprise, though only for a heartbeat. His long face draws into an appropriately melancholy expression. “My poor goodsister. We thought her half a horse, until the day her mount threw her on a hunt. My niece was left an orphan, not a soul to care for her save myself and my lady wife. Without Your Grace’s kind consideration of her … my lady wife had suggested she might enter a motherhouse, but we Blackwoods keep the old gods, Your Grace.”

“Is there no suitor for her hand?”

Lord Blackwood looks away. “Your Grace is good to think of that for her, but … well, my brother’s shade would never forgive me if I did not find her a suitable lord husband, and to dower her …”

_So are we coming to it?_ Naerys thinks to herself. Aemon had warned her that Lord Blackwood would think of his own children before Melissa, to be sure. _Still, it must be known she is my lady._ A place at court could sometimes be better than a dower of gold, Naerys knew.

“Melissa would make a fine lady of any castle,” the queen says aloud. “She is very clever as well as kind, I have found.”

“To be sure, Your Grace,” Benedict Blackwood replies, his tone uncertain. “Clever. Our maester always said so. But Your Grace knows there can be other … considerations.”

_Is he hinting for gold?_ Naerys wonders. _He is doing it poorly, if he is._ Naerys would give Melissa her own crown, and gladly, if it meant her lady would have a dower, but Aegon would never allow it. The king dressed little Daemon in silks and velvets, and had given Barba Bracken a chest of fine jewels and the blacksmith’s wife a manse in the city, but he raged whenever he discovered Naerys had given a purse of dragons to a poor septry near Duskendale, or to the construction of Baelor’s great sept in King’s Landing, or to their grandson on Dragonstone. _He is only generous when it suits him._

Naerys turns her head to Quentyn and Benarr Blackwood, hooting and cheering as one of their falcons brings down a duck on the wing. “Your sons’ birds are doing well, my lord,” she observes. 

“My sons,” he repeats. Lord Blackwood pauses, then puts on a confident smile. “Quentyn was just knighted by Lord Mooton, not two moons past. Lord Rupert held a tourney in honor of Quentyn’s betrothal to his daughter Melony. She will make a good Lady of Raventree, Lady Melony.”

_As Melissa would not._ Naerys hears the message clear enough. Lord Blackwood was no fool, that was plain; Maidenpool was a busy, prosperous port, and the Mootons a rich family. Lady Melissa might be kind and clever and dutiful, but an orphaned cousin was no match for a boy who was heir to Blackwood Vale. _Perhaps the second son, but …_

A sudden cry goes up ahead of them. The king cheers and shouts like a little boy, clapping his huge leathered hands. “There, there!” he calls, gesturing at the sky. A huge heron is flapping its wings hard, trying to escape the bird circling above it.

“Whose falcon is that?” Naerys asks. 

“The king’s, of a certainty, Your Grace,” Lord Blackwood answers her. A ruby ring on his finger flashes as he cups his hand to his brow and stares up at the clouds.

“Go on! Go on!” the king yells up at the swirling clouds. “That damned heron won’t be long now.”

Naerys shudders a little at Aegon’s cursing. _What was it cousin Baelor used to say, the day he outlawed hunting in the kingswood? “Let no man hurt our little brothers, for the Father made us all, and it is to him we must answer for their blood.”_ She prays silently as she watches. _Father, spare them. Mother, have mercy. Blessed Baelor, help them._

With a shriek, the falcon falls suddenly on the heron. The two tumble toward the ground in a fury of feathers, faster than Naerys would have ever thought possible. Aegon shouts and jumps in the saddle. “The lure! The lure! Get the bird away, men!” He turns to Naerys, smirking. “Not your bird, wife!”

_But not yours either_ , Naerys realizes as the servants toss the lure to the falcon. Lord Blackwood glances at the king nervously, and Lady Shella frowns, but Ser Quentyn Blackwood looks amused as he nods at Lady Melissa. “That’s _your_ bird, cousin.”


	11. Chapter 11

There is no heron at the feast.

 _A wise lord_ , Naerys thinks ruefully. The king never liked to be reminded of his failures, as she knows well. Instead, Lord Blackwood has brought out stewed venison and roast boar, capons stuffed with onions and mushrooms, duck and goose, trout and salmon. Alec Mallister and Josua Piper, young boys serving as pages to Lord Blackwood, keep the cups of the guests filled: Arbor gold, a sweet honeyed wine from Lannisport, and a rich red all the way from Volantis. 

Naerys pushes her dish - quail drowned in butter - around her plate, letting it grow cold without picking at it. The Mother's Book taught that any man who ate his host’s bread and salt would be under the Mother’s sacred protection, for the Mother guarded all hearths. _Does that still work if the host is an unbeliever, though?_ the queen wonders. She glances at Aegon and then at Lord Benedict, smiling at the king like an indulgent father. _Does the Mother protect a guest from a guest?_

The rest of the table has eyes only for the king. “I pray Your Grace will ride with us again tomorrow.” Lord Blackwood has surrendered his weirwood high seat to King Aegon, and instead sits at his right hand. “There are fine stags in the lands around Raventree Hall. Any one of them would be a prize worthy of a king.”

“Perhaps I should ask Melissa to ride in my stead, Blackwood,” the king replies, stabbing at his boar. “She seems to be such a good huntress.”

Naerys automatically begins twisting the edge of her sleeve. She had caught the little edge in his voice, the petulant undertone that had always warned her of her brother’s wrath. Whenever the king used that voice with her, Naerys would always beg his leave and flee to the castle sept, where she would pray before the Mother’s altar; by the time she returned, Aegon would be gone, hammering the knights of the court in the yard or entertaining another woman in his chambers. 

There is nowhere to flee now, though. Naerys flicks her eyes at Lord Blackwood. _Crone, let him know how to answer wisely_ , she prays, _or else, Warrior, give him the courage to endure the king’s fury, and let no harm come to Lady Melissa._

Lord Blackwood’s own voice is serene as he responds to the king. “Only by your fine example, Your Grace. I fear my lady niece could never fare so well in the hunt on her own.”

“She’s much better at swimming,” Quentyn Blackwood sniggers. 

Next to him, his parents exchange an uneasy glance. The king, though, tilts his head curiously, looking at Melissa Blackwood, to the queen’s left. “Is that right, my lady?”

Veins of red creep up Melissa’s pale cheeks. “We were visiting Lord Lothston once, Your Grace,“ she begins to explain. “I told my lord uncle that I wished to pray in the godswood, but … well, it was all rather foolish, I am sure Your Grace would not wish to hear of it. Besides, this was some years ago, I am not sure I could remember it all myself.”

Quentyn Blackwood has taken advantage of his lord father’s generosity with the wine; his face is already flushed. “You remember how it was, Missy. You went swimming in the Gods Eye. The castle guard went looking for you and found you dripping, twisting the water from your hair.” He chuckles and looks at the king, as though the two of them are sharing a private joke. “And you know what she said she was doing, Your Grace? Trying to get to the Isle of Faces!”

The king’s purple eyes are dancing, focused completely on Melissa now. “Swimming the Gods Eye! I hope your clothes didn’t weigh you down, my lady.” He roars with laughter.

Melissa hangs her head, reddening deeply. Naerys had seen enough smallfolk of King’s Landing escaping a hot day in the Blackwater Rush to guess what her lady had been wearing during her escapade. _Or not wearing_. 

Quentyn snorts into his cup. “She was all alone, Your Grace. I think she was -”

“Very wet indeed” Lord Benedict interrupts smoothly. He glares at his elder son coldly before turning a charmed smile on the king. “Your Grace envisions it well.”

The king does not even flick an eye at Lord Blackwood, still laughing to himself at the thought of Melissa’s swim. Naerys turns toward her lady. “Did you make it?” she asks quietly.

“Your Grace?” Melissa looks anxiously at the queen, then the king, then her uncle and aunt.

Aegon breaks out of his reverie and purses his lips in annoyance. “It’s a fool’s question. You do not have to listen to her, Lady Melissa.”

“Did you make it?” Naerys repeats. “To the Isle of Faces?”

“Seven hells, woman!” Aegon smacks his hand on the table. “Have you ever seen the Gods Eye? I couldn’t swim it! It’s too big for any man.” He grabs his cup and takes a long drink, then slams it back down, slopping Arbor gold on the table. Young Josua rushes to the king’s side, but retreats after an angry wave from Aegon.

Melissa nods at the king, and gives Naerys a little smile. “The king has the right of it, Your Grace. The Gods Eye is too great for any man to swim.”

“A wise king,” Lady Shella agrees. “Your Grace has the wisdom of the great Jaehaerys and the strength of your namesake.”

“And valorous,” Lord Benedict adds. “My late brother wrote to me of your feats in Dorne. ‘Never have I seen such a champion with the lance’, he said.”

 _Ser Willum was no fool either, it seems_ , Naerys thinks to herself. Aegon had considered himself the conqueror of Godsgrace, though in truth their Uncle Alyn Velaryon’s ships had won the day for him. He had been so proud that he insisted that a great tourney be staged, with all the knights under his command to take part. When Daeron’s army had left Dorne, she had heard, the Dornishmen had burned every tourney lance from Vaith to Lemonwood, although good wood for lances was worth its weight in silver in the deserts of Dorne. 

“I am glad my lady niece takes after her father.” Benedict nods to Melissa. “There is no greater virtue than loyalty, wouldn’t you agree, niece?”

“Yes - yes, my lord,” Melissa answers, bowing her head. She thumbs the Blackwood sigil on her goblet, tracing the ravens with the tip of her nail. 

“Loyalty to one’s king is the greatest virtue,” Lord Blackwood continues, taking no notice of his niece. “We Blackwoods have always supported our rightful king, and no sacrifice is too great for him.” He takes a drink, then chuckles. “Unlike the Brackens, Your Grace.”

 _He’s crossed the Trident now_ , Naerys thinks. She grips the stem of her cup and glances at Aegon. 

“Brackens,” the king growls. He snaps his fingers at the Piper boy, who tips the mouth of the flagon toward the king’s cup. Aegon drains it, frowning. “They’re all sluts at Stone Hedge.”

Lord Blackwood tilts his head curiously, while the king stares at the remnants of his wine. “Every one of them,” Aegon repeats, more to himself than the rest of the party.

“Your Grace has been wronged by them,” Lord Benedict agrees aloud. “Though I confess, I expected but little else from the Brackens. Your Grace may not know, but some years past Lord Bracken discussed a betrothal between Barba and the second son of Lord Darry. The dower had nearly been agreed upon when Lord Darry suddenly broke off all contact with Lord Bracken.”

Aegon sniffs. “The slut’s father couldn’t pay. What of it, Blackwood?”

“We thought the same when it occurred, Your Grace,” Lord Benedict continues, “but Lord Darry confided to me the truth of the matter. It seems Barba was …” he pauses, and then glances at the ladies of the table with an air of apology “... not of a _virtuous_ disposition.”

Aegon snaps his head up. “So the little whore had a lover, did she?” He snaps a bone left on his plate. “It all fits. Bracken forced her on me to cover up her lusts. She must have spread her legs for every stableboy at Stone Hedge before she came to the Red Keep.” 

“And who’s to say?” Terence Toyne pipes up. “Who else might she have taken in the bed you gave her, sire? A whore never forgets her tricks, after all.”

Aegon nods vigorously. “Quite right, Toyne. She probably had every man in my castle thrice. Even that brother of hers … I never liked Ser Amory. All smirking smiles, that one. Smirking at me as he bedded his sister, so that their get would look like a Bracken and I would be none the wiser.”

Naerys frowns. _Barba was no friend to me, and yet_ … It had often been her custom to visit the Maidenvault during her cousin Baelor’s rule, to pray alongside his sister Rhaena. She remembers one visit, when the septas at the doors had stopped her for an hour before allowing her into the chambers. Naerys had questioned Rhaena, who only shook her head, but it was Elaena, three and ten, who answered for her. “ _Our brother has them examine us every month_ ,” she had whispered angrily, her violet eyes glaring at the nearest septa. “ _He thinks he can get us with child if he has any thoughts about us._ ” 

_Barba would have been examined too_ , Naerys concludes. _She couldn’t have hidden so many lovers from the septas_ . She doubted Barba had taken other lovers once she had become Aegon’s mistress, either: there had been enough members of Barba’s court who were willing to betray her to the king when she was dismissed. Naerys closes her eyes in prayer. _Father, judge her justly for her part in Aegon’s adultery, but Mother, have mercy on her for Aegon’s slanders._

“It is unfortunate,” Lord Benedict adds, “when the chivalry of the kingdom has forgotten its ways, and no longer looks to the king for an example.”

Naerys had taken a small sip of her watered wine, and begins choking once she hears his words. Melissa raises one dark eyebrow at her, but the queen shakes her head. “Forgive me, my lord. Some wine went down the wrong way.”

“But of course, Your Grace.” Lord Blackwood’s smile did not reach his eyes. He returns to the king. “It is why, Your Grace, we have arranged no betrothal for our dear niece. Such a loyal, _virtuous_ maiden … one would not wish to give her to a man who has forgotten the ways of chivalry. The smallfolk would say it would be to throw gems before pigs.”

Aegon studies Melissa again, his eyes narrowed in focus. “And beautiful,” he notes. 

“Your Grace does us much honor.” This time, his smile made his gray eyes crinkle in amusement.

“My lord,” Naerys calls to the king. “It grows late, and we have tread upon the hospitality of our lord of Blackwood long enough. Should we not retire?”

The carved raven’s wings on the Blackwood high seat rise behind the king, making him look like a white dragon about to fly. Aegon furrows his brow, and Naerys recoils, waiting for him to bellow at her. Instead, though, a smile twists his face. “Yes, wife.” He rises. “I believe we should retire. If my lord would be good enough to show me to my bedchamber …”

Lord Blackwood almost leaps up from his chair. “Your Grace, if you should follow me, you will have mine own bed. My lady wife will escort Her Grace to her chamber.”

When they reach Lady Shella’s chamber, Naerys thanks her. “It is but our humblest thanks,” Lady Blackwood replies. “But if I may ask Your Grace the smallest favor, we have not seen our sweet niece in many moons. Her lord uncle and I are most eager to speak with her.”

Naerys turns, realizing Melissa had not accompanied them. “Where is Lady Melissa now?”

“With my sons,” Shella answers. “Even now they are likely asking her every detail about the Red Keep and lamenting that they cannot be there themselves. _The_ _Seven-Pointed Star_ teaches against jealousy, but Your Grace will know how boys can be.”

“And - would she not be tired?” 

Shella puts on a fond smile. “My lady niece never lacked for energy. I am sure Your Grace has found her the same.”

Naerys hesitates, then nods. “As you wish, my lady.”

And for the first night since Melissa Blackwood came into her service, Naerys Targaryen sleeps alone. 


End file.
